A Mission to Nicaragua: Day Three

Savannah Morning News reporter Pamela E. Walck is on a mission trip to Nicaragua. She is experiencing technical difficulties, so I’m posting this blog entry for her. Please enjoy, and come back for more installments this week. - Josh Rayburn, assistant metro editor

Walking through the market in Nicaragua is akin to doing so in Ukraine, but a little more hectic.

In Ukraine, the people ignore you and push past you as if they don’t see you. I’ve always credited this behavior to fallout from the Iron Curtain days, when it was to your benefit not to get into your neighbor’s business. As a result, people rarely make eye contact. There are no greetings for strangers. No smiles, either.

Not so in Nicaragua.

Here, the people are blatantly curious. They stare.

Maybe it’s because we’re gringos. Maybe it’s because I was with Zhu and Terry. (Zhu is a first-generation American from Chinese immigrant parents; Terry is African-American.)

When the guys started taking pictures, suddenly these merely curious Nicaraguans became full-fledge models. Posing for photos. Pulling friends into the frame. Demanding to see their images.

It became quite the scene.

Plus, there were simply plenty of interesting things to see.

Markets here are like the stores our grandparents went to. Hardware here, plumping here, paint here. Homegoods over there. There’s no Lowe’s or Home Depot.

The markets are a maze of vendors with its specific items packed ceiling to floor.

The main reason we went to the market was to buy paint and two new toilets.

It appears we will be painting the banos tomorrow. (A scary thought since the toilets at the church are a little rougher than that squatty potty in Yalta that still gives me nightmares.)

Earlier in the day we had repainted the sanctuary at the church. It was amazing to see a dozen Savannah Christian folks working side-by-side their Nicaraguan brothers and sisters – praise music in Spanish blasting from the sound system.

Yesterday, our translator, Marlo told us that in Heaven we’d all be speaking Spanish. Some of us doubted his authority in this area. Truth is, I don’t know what our language will be in glory, but I am thrilled at the notion of being able to have long conversations with friends — whether Ukrainian or Nicaraguan — minus the need for translators.

But for a little while, working on our task in the middle of Cuerpo de Cristo’s sanctuary on Earth, we were all speaking the same language of service.